Double Madness
by Empire of Fiction
Summary: During Sherlock's drug days, he donated his sperm for money. Now he's dealing with teenage twins claiming to be his children. What happens when they enter Sherlock's chaotic life?
1. Chapter 1: Introductions

**My first Sherlock fanfic. I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

In front of Mrs Hudson stood two teenagers; a boy and a girl. They looked very similar. Then again, they _were_ twins. They were dressed scruffily, various stains adorned their oddly matched clothing. They each had a large backpack slung over one shoulder and they did not smell particularly pleasant. It was rather obvious that they had been living on the street.

"Hello. Does Sherlock Holmes live here?" asked the boy. Both children had angular faces with wavy, dark brown hair and strikingly green eyes. They had an air of formality about them that contradicted their tatty attire.

"Yes dears. SHERLOCK! THERE'S SOMEONE TO SEE YOU!" The teens took an immediate liking to the old woman. They walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. It was opened by a man with short, blonde-grey hair.

"Yes?" The twins could sense the annoyance in his voice. It was most likely because his roommate was 'toasting' eyeballs in the microwave.

"Sherlock Holmes?" asked the boy. The annoyed man gestured violently towards the kitchen. The teenagers drank in their surroundings as they walked into the kitchen, trying to imprint every detail into their memory. They stopped when their eyes fell onto the man they had been searching for.

"What?" snapped Sherlock.

"Sherlock..." warned John. Sherlock shot John an angry glare and their eyes locked.

"Hi dad." said the girl softly.

"What!" screamed John, turning to look at the teenagers in front of him properly.

* * *

**Layla's POV**

Why did I say that? It just slipped out. Connor shoots me a warning glare. We were meant to approach the subject lightly. I guess I kinda ruined that.

"Mr Holmes. I apologise for my sister's inappropriate outburst, but we have a rather pressing matter to discuss with you."

The blonde man is staring at me, his mouth slightly open. It's starting to make me uncomfortable. I think Sherlock senses my discomfort because he says, "John close your mouth. You look like a goldfish and it's incredibly rude." He raises his eyebrows at the man called John.

"Well-I-I mean-" John stammers.

"And I am not your father. There has been no opportunity. I'm sorry but you are sorely mistaken." No. I am not taking this. We have come too far to be turned down. To be told we are 'mistaken'.

"We have proof!" I cry. Ugh. I sound so desperate. I guess I am, this is our last shot. Connor looks at me angrily. I just can't control my mouth today. I reach into my bag and pull out my proof. It's a piece of paper stating that on the 15th November 1998, Sherlock Holmes donated his sperm to a sperm bank in Liverpool. Sherlock snatches it from my hands, looks at it for three seconds, and storms out of the flat.

"Stay here. Don't do anything" says John before following Sherlock. I suspect we'll be here for some time.

* * *

John and Sherlock sat in the cab. "What the hell Sherlock?"

"It's not forged John. My signature is not forged. It's my signature. MY SIGNATURE!" Sherlock roared. He began to grumble under his breath, no doubt muttering all the possible explanations for this bizarre phenomenon. John was dumbstruck. He did not know what was on the piece of paper, but he was certain it was not good news. The rest of the cab ride was in silence util they arrived at their location.

"The Diogenes Club? But Sherlock you-"

"Mycroft will know. Mycroft has to know."

They walked into the Diogenes Club and found Mycroft.

"John, Sherlock, how pleasant to see you both." Sherlock handed Mycroft the piece of paper. "It's not forged" says Mycroft.

"Your genius astounds me brother." Sherlock retorted sarcastically.

"How did you acquire this?"

"Twins showed up on my doorstep claiming I was their father. Did you know of this?"

"No."

"I thought you watched me constantly."

"When you were on drugs there were" Mycroft paused, searching for the right words, "lapses in my ability to track you. Complications arose."

"So you mean-"

"These could very well be your children Sherlock."

"I beg your pardon!" Until this point John had watched the brothers' interaction with amusement but the possibility that Sherlock may have children...it was too overwhelming to comprehend. Sherlock stalked out of the Diogenes Club leaving John standing in a room with Mycroft, his mouth gaping in shock. "Does this mean...?

"Very much so." replied Mycroft, "Did the children look at all like him?"

"Yes. Very."

"I would suggest you go to Baker Street John. I would not want my brother to do anything rash."

John hurried out of the Diogenes Club and managed to catch up with Sherlock. They caught a cab to 221B Baker Street. They argued for the whole journey.

* * *

**Layla's POV**

Connor and I are lounging on the sofa watching re-runs of the Big Bang Theory on Sherlock's TV. Connor had given me a mini scolding about my behaviour before. He was a minute and a half older than me and he felt like he could just boss me around. He had a point though. It could've gone better. I hear the door open and see Sherlock walk in. Connor and I promptly stand up.

"It's not polite to look through other's belongings" says Sherlock. My face turns bright red. We'd only snooped a little. We hadn't even gone into his room, we'd just looked on John's laptop and rummaged through the kitchen a bit. That was until we found the eyeballs in the microwave and decided it may be better not to delve any further. We read some of John's blog, some of it was really funny. We hadn't had time to Google Sherlock properly before we left. All we'd had was a name, an address, and one week to let our imagination roam. Our dad seemed quite cool if I was honest.

John comes up the stairs. "Umm...Sherlock. We need to talk about this-"

"They can't stay here John. There's nowhere for them to sleep."

"But we can't let them stay on the street. We don't even know if they have money for food." He turns and looks at me, " Do you have money?"

"Well-" Sherlock cuts me off. Now that's just rude.

"It's irrelevant John. They're not my children and not my responsibility"

"Sherlock, you're in denial. Look at them. They're obviously yours."

"Just because the look like me, doesn't mean they're _mine_"

"Sherlock-" John says angrily before Connor interrupts.

"It's ok. We'll go. We're sorry for the inconvenience. We won't be coming back." Excuse me? I, for one, will be coming back to see my father. I am not going to a care home when I could be staying with family.

"Now you wait there," says John, "You are staying here for tonight at least. I will not have you sleeping on the streets."

"John. There is _nowhere_ here for them to sleep."

"We have sleeping bags. We could just sleep on the floor." I suggest. Connor may not appear too happy about it, but I'm sure he'd be grateful of the warmth.

"Ok. That's ok. You can stay here for the night and we can sort the rest of this out in the morning. And we'll discuss it _calmly_ in the morning. Alright?" John looks over at Sherlock. They had probably had an argument or something whilst they were gone. Sherlock gives John an icy glare and storms into his bedroom. "I apologise. This is just a shock for him. Why don't you tell me how you got here and then maybe this will make a bit more sense to me?"


	2. Chapter 2: Stories

**I kind of forgot to mention that I didn't own Sherlock. Don't sue me, I'm saying it now. Better late than never. **

**Thank you to BlueSummerSkies13 for being my first ever reviewer and kiki02 for being my first follower. On with the story...**

* * *

**Layla's POV**

When John asked how we got here, I knew we could potentially be allowed to stay for longer. I mean, he couldn't exactly send us back. There was nothing to send us back to anyway.

Connor answers John's question, "We walked from Liverpool."

"From Liverpool! How long were you walking for?" John's shocked expression makes me realise just how far we had walked and how little we had stopped. A feeling of exhaustion floods through my body. Ugh. I need sleep.

"Only a week." replies Connor, brushing off the physical torture like it was nothing. Well he would, he's the athletic one.

"Blimey you must be tired."

"Yes," I say, "I'm sorry, but would you mind if I just went to sleep?" Connor shoots me an evil glare. Yes Connor, I know it's rude, but I'm _tired._

"Sure. Of course you can. You've had a long journey." John gives me a warm smile. I'm glad he's here, he seems really nice. I'm sure we'll get along great. "In fact. Change of plan. We can talk about why you're here in the morning. You must be exhausted. Just set up your sleeping bags and I'll see you in the morning. Don't let Sherlock kick you out. He's just in a foul mood. Good night."

John walks out of the door leaving just Connor and I. But that's the problem, it's only Connor and me. No Mum. My mother is gone...and she's not coming back. Connor said it was stupid to worry and that we should remain positive, but he wasn't like me. He was strong and brave and everything that I couldn't bring myself to be in this situation. What was I meant to do? It was all my fault. No matter how many times Connor tried to insist that it wasn't it didn't change what I did.

We set up our sleeping bags in silence. I go to turn off the lights before we drift into sleep...

I wake up screaming. Where am I? What happened? Why am I screaming?

"Layla," I hear Connor say, "Calm down. I'm here. Sshh. Sshh. Calm down." I can feel my face is wet. Why is my face wet? What's happening?

It all hits me at once and I remember everything. I cry, my body heaving with each sob.

"Oh will you shut her up!" Sherlock says. I try and control myself but fail miserably. Connor rubs my back and strokes my hair. I hear someone enter the room.

"What happened?" says John. I look up at him, my vision blurred with tears. John rushes to me, "What did you do?" he says accusingly to Sherlock. I try to shake my head and correct him, but I only cry harder.

"Nothing. I didn't do anything! She just won't shut up!"

"Sherlock if you honestly-"

"She had a nightmare" Connor interrupts, "She's been having them every night for a while, but never like this."

"See. I _told_ you I didn't do anything." Despite my tears I manage a weak smile. I manage to stop crying after that. It's really embarrassing crying in front of two complete strangers, I must remember never to do it again, it doesn't make for a very good first impression. Ugh, I can't even begin to imagine what they think of me. John makes Connor and I a cup of tea as I calm myself down and we sit on the couch. John come backs with a box of tissues and some tea. I accept both eagerly and wipe my eyes and blow my nose. I mumble a 'thank you' as I down my cup of tea. We haven't had anything remotely nutritious in two days, just water and odd scraps picked up along the way. The tea burns my mouth but my stomach feels full after I finish it.

"Now," John begins, "Why don't we continue our conversation? So you're from Liverpool, why come here?"

"Oh John it's rather obvi-"

"Not to everyone Sherlock." Sherlock gives a 'humph' and...sulks. Are grown ups meant to sulk and throw hissy fits? I didn't think they did.

Connor answers John's question, "We've known for a while that our father had, you know, never met our mum. It wasn't up until a few weeks ago that we discovered who our dad actually was..." he glances over at Sherlock, who seems uninterested, " And then...a week ago our mum died in a car crash." Connor's voice cracks slightly. This is the first time he's said it out loud, it hurts so bad. Connor carries on, "We've nowhere else to go, Mum didn't introduce us to any of her family. There had been an argument. None of them want us. They want to send us into care, but we thought we'd come here. It's not as if we've got anything to lose, you know?"

"Are you _sure_ your Sherlock's children?"

"St Bart's" Sherlock says before flouncing out of the room. Well that was abrupt. If he plans on being this spontaneous all the time I may reconsider this.

"He's probably gonna have a DNA test or something so you should probably come with." John says as he gets up and to follow Sherlock. I feel sorry for John, always following. Mind you, he seems independent enough that if he wanted to leave, he probably would have by now. Connor and I get up to follow him. I know my face is probably all red and puffy from my crying, but I just want to settle this once and for all.


	3. Chapter 3: Hello, St Bart's

**Hi. Time for the third chapter. Thanks to Miko Hayashi for reviewing and anyone else who follows, favourites or reads. Hope you enjoy.**

**P.S. just thought you should know this takes place between The Blind Banker and The Great Game. So that means Moriarty should be popping up soon. Yay.**

* * *

**Layla's POV**

No one says anything in the cab, I can feel the tension. St Bart's is probably a research place or a hospital, I can't imagine it being a church. We pull up outside a large white building. On the side it says 'St BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL'. So it _is_ a hospital. We walk in in silence. Seriously, someone needs to say something. I would but...I don't _really _want to be the one to break the silence. We enter the morgue. Awesome.

"Molly," I hear Sherlock say, "get some syringes."I turn to look at a woman with medium length, light brown hair and a warm face. She smiles, but her smile freezes when she notices us.

"Umm...Sherlock. No kids allowed." she says timidly

"Don't worry Molly, they're his." says John.

"HIS!" Molly's suddenly loud voice shocks me, but I can tell it shocks John and Sherlock more.

"We don't know that they're mine. They could just be common liars."

"Sherlock. Look at them. They look just like you."

"I keep telling you John. Just because they _look_ like me, doesn't mean they're _mine_."

"They are so obviously yours that-"

"Can we just do the test?" I find myself saying, "We can just clarify."

"_See_. She gets it."

"You're still my dad."

"I might not be-"

"Just do the test already." he scowls at me and I laugh. He seems shocked at my reaction, like he was expecting me to shout at him or something. He swiftly turns around.

"Molly. Where are the syringes?"

"Umm...Well..."

"I'll get them myself." And Sherlock heads off.

* * *

When Layla had laughed, Sherlock had felt a strange, warm feeling. He seldom felt this feeling. He felt it when he was with John on occasion, but he was still unused it. He didn't know what it was, and he did not like asking others for answers he could easily discover for himself. However, he had still not determined what this feeling was. Perhaps he would ask John. Unlikely.

Sherlock did the DNA test without saying a word. He watched as Molly and Layla talked. Random nonsense about school and jobs and stupid stuff that no one cared about. Why did people have to be so _ordinary_? Everyone was so stupid and he still couldn't understand why. He had wanted to do some experiments on human children but Mycroft had forbade it. Stupid Mycroft. If he had known about the children sooner he could have used them and Mycroft couldn't have said a thing. Subconsciously, he knew the children were his. But he just wanted to 'clarify' as Layla had said. Sherlock thought of her laugh again. It was light and silvery. Maybe it was the frequency that had caused that strange sensation. He would have to conduct some more experiments.

* * *

**Layla's POV**

Molly's lovely. Even though I look atrocious and I can't imagine I smell much nicer, she talks to me like I'm an old friend. I see the way she looks at Sherlock, I wouldn't mind her being my mum. We go and get some coffee whilst Sherlock does his science mumbo-jumbo. We pass John and Connor as we leave the morgue. They're talking about the army, Connor looks genuinely happy for the first time in ages. I give him a quick smile as we walk past and he beams back. He's always wanted to join the army. I can tell John's been in the army, I just hopes he manages to dissuade Connor. I've not got anything against the army, but physical confrontation has never been my thing and I really don't want to lose my brother as well.

Molly hasn't asked why we're here yet. I hope she doesn't, I haven't said it out loud yet. I don't want to say she's gone yet, because it doesn't seem real. One second she was there, and we were arguing, and then she was gone. I was left without a scratch, just a few bruises. She was left without a life.

"Layla. Are you ok?" Molly asks. My mind must have drifted. She had been talking about Toby, her cat. I've always wanted a cat.

"Yeah, sorry. I spaced out. Toby sounds so cute. Have you got any pictures?"

Molly get her phone out and shows me a picture of a really fluffy cat with white and brown fur.

"Awww. He's so _cute_"

"I know, right? He's so adorable." I nod in approval as we get the coffee and head back to the morgue. I think Molly and I are friends. I've never really had friends, I'm glad I've made one. We get the coffee and begin to walk back to the morgue, chatting all the way. I don't think I've ever met anyone as nice as Molly. We somehow manage to get onto the topic of boyfriends. For some reason that I can't comprehend, boys have always been attracted to me, but I've never really been interested in them. I've got more important stuff to worry about. Molly tells me about this guy she fancies called Jim, he works in IT. He seems lovely, I hope they get together. I've noticed that Sherlock ignores her a bit. My dad is an idiot. He's ignoring one of the most amazing people ever. Molly is clever, and funny, and kind. I have to admit, she deserves someone who at least pays attention to her._  
_

When we enter the morgue Sherlock is still doing science stuff. Suddenly he stands up.

"Layla, Connor. You will be staying with us from now on." He walks out of the morgue. Connor and I share a look of both happiness and shock. We really weren't expecting our dad to be this spontaneous. He can't just walk off and expect people to follow him. But I really need a shower, and the only place I'm going to get that is at Baker Street. I say a quick goodbye to Molly as Connor, John and I follow Sherlock to wherever the hell he is going. I am going to have to find a way of stopping him just walking off. I've only known him a day and I don't think I could live with this for the rest of my life. Wow. I have a dad. And I don't have to go into care. My face breaks into a smile. Things are looking up for the first time in what feels like forever.


	4. Chapter 4: 221 C

**Hi. I wrote this whilst listening to the songs from Eurovision. Are there any Eurovision fans out there? If so feel free to PM and we can talk about how AMAZING it was this year. Seriously, there were almost no joke acts, people actually tried. **

**Moving on, hope you enjoy the new chapter. Thanks to anyone who reads, follows, favourites or reviews. Moriarty is coming soon...**

* * *

**Layla's POV**

"So you were wrong. We _are_ your kids" I say once we enter the cab going god knows where.

"I was not wrong. I was unaware of all the facts." Ha. _Unaware of the facts_. That's a lame excuse.

"You were still wrong."

"Unaware of all the facts." Oh come on. At least think of something _intelligent_.

"Listen, you two. This could go on forever, so can we just accept that we all made mistakes and move on?" say John. I guess he's the peace-maker.

"From the fact he was wrong" I have a giant grin on my face. I haven't been this happy in ages.

"I was not wrong." Sherlock almost growls. I can't help but laugh. Now I understand where I got my stubbornness from.

* * *

She was doing it again. She was laughing. Even though he was extremely annoyed, her laugh still had a strange effect on him. He found that he wanted to join in with her laughter. He managed to restrain it to just a smirk though. What were these children going to do to him? He had not really talked to Connor as much, excluding their encounter the previous night. He had detested the children then, but now he found he rather liked them. He was sure he would do a better job than his parents. He would look after these children, he would pay attention to them and at least mock caring when it mattered. Not only that, but could help with his experiments, and he had people to pass his knowledge on to. People who still had the ability to learn, not like John who was stuck in his annoyingly simple ways. John could miss the glaringly obvious at times, but at others he prevented Sherlock from overthinking a situation. Occasionally his stupidity paid off.

The children remained silent for the rest of the journey. Sherlock was thankful for it, he did not like what they were doing to his emotional state. Maybe it was not a good idea to have them stay. But then John would think bad of him, and he couldn't have that. They arrived at Baker Street, he would have to enquire about the availability of 221 C.

* * *

**Layla's POV**

"Mrs Hudson!" I hear Sherlock scream as we enter the house. Geesh, he is definitely the rudest person I've ever met. Apart from Connor in the morning, I've never seen anything quite as terrifying as that.

"Yes Sherlock." says Mrs Hudson as sh exits her flat. Oh, so Mrs Hudson is the woman who opened the door yesterday. John gives Sherlock an annoyed look that Sherlock promptly ignores. He's obviously not happy with the way Sherlock treats Mrs Hudson.

"Is 221 C still available?"

"Oh. Yes it is. No one wants it because of the damp."

"I'm renting it out. Connor and Layla will be staying there." Mrs Hudson passes her eyes over us. I don't think she really knows who we are yet.

"But Sherlock, the damp-"says John before being interrupted by Connor.

"We're good with damp. It's better than staying outside, you know?" Connor says. I have to agree with him there. A few nights ago we got attacked by a fox. It wasn't even a fully grown one, it was still a cub. Both embarrassing and terrifying.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I say, "we're glad we've got somewhere to stay at least."

_"See_ John. They're fine. Now stop worrying, we have some shopping to do."

"What for?" I ask.

"Well you can't just sleep on the floor can you, and you'll need some more clothes and toiletries and what not." says John.

"We did fine last night."

"Yes, but you are with us for the foreseeable future and it will not do to have you sleeping on the floor." explains Sherlock.

"Glad to see you care. Just a question...what do we call you?"

"What do you mean?" Oh, for a supposed genius he could be incredibly stupid.

"Well," I explain, "seeing as you've accepted that your our father, do you want us to call you dad or anything?"

"Whatever you find comfortable"

"Ultimately though," says Connor, " This is what we're gonna call you for the rest of your life, so you might want to think about it. Otherwise we might call you something utterly atrocious"

"Like what?" asks Sherlock, intrigued.

"Like Sherly"I say

"Or Shelly" counters Connor.

"Or Poppa Lock" John bursts out laughing at my suggestion.

"Actually...I quite like Poppa Lock. I reckon we should stick with that. What about you sis?"

"You know what. I like it too Connor. Do you like it Sherlock?" I smirk as I turn to face him. He looks like he wants to punch something. It's hilarious. I never though annoying someone could be this much fun.

"No. I do not."

"So what do you want us to call you?" asks Connor.

"I don't know..."

"The great Sherlock Holmes is stumped. I was _not_ expecting that" John says. We all laugh, excluding Sherlock, who looks very irritated. Mrs Hudson goes into her flat and rummages around, looking for the keys to 221 C, still chuckling. John's phone vibrates.

"Oh that's Sarah. She needs to see me about something. I'm off. You'll be ok, right?" He asks after checking his texts. I like John, it seems like he genuinely cares if we're ok. He's probably just scared Sherlock will toast our eyeballs like the ones we found this morning.

"I'll be fine John."

"I wasn't talking to you Sherlock." Connor sniggers and Sherlock gives him an angry glare. I like our dad.

"We'll be great." I answer "Can we call you Uncle John, or do you prefer just John."

"You know, Uncle John sounds quite nice. Why don't we try it out and see how it goes?"

"Bye Uncle John!" Shouts Connor as John hails a cab.

Mrs Hudson finally finds the keys. "Oh, John's gone."

"Yeah, he's gone off to see some woman called Sarah." I explain.

"Maybe she's his girlfriend."

"It won't last." Why did he to be a party pooper? Couldn;t he just lighten up?

"Always the pessimist, Sherlock." I tease.

"Just a realist." I snigger.

"Goodbye Mrs Hudson. We have some shopping to do." says Sherlock as he walks out the door. We follow him eagerly. I can't wait to decorate my new room!


	5. Chapter 5: Explosions

**Hello again. You'll all know this chapter. I strayed from the script a bit at times, but managed to pretty much stock to it. Sorry for the slow update. I had exams and Duke of Edinburgh. To all the non-Brits it's basically a 20 mile hike over two days with a 15 kg bag and a couple of friends. It was fun, but my legs are shredded. Hope you enjoy...**

* * *

They had shopped for the rest of the day. The twins bought various items for their new home. They had learnt more about their father, including that he could be unintentionally hilarious. They found that even though their father was immensely clever, he was spectacularly ignorant about some things. For example, Julius Caesar. They had been talking about Mycroft's position of power and Connor had compared him to Julius Caesar. The twins had struggled to stop laughing when Sherlock asked what salad had to do with anything. Sherlock discovered that he actually liked spending times with his children. During the seven hours he had spent shopping with them he had grown unusually attached to them. He had deduced a lot about the children, but found that more could be learnt from talking to then then just staring at them intently. Pietra wouldn't let him just stare anyway, she had said if he didn't stop she would tear out his eyes and put them in the microwave and he could see how his experiment worked with fresh eyes. He had learnt that the twins were not entirely comfortable living with dead body parts, and it wan't his fault there were eyes in the microwave. Donovan, the idiot, took his eyeballs out of the microwave and he'd had to redo to whole experiment. Stupid Donovan, always getting in the way.

* * *

**Layla's POV**

We arrive at Sherlock's house-actually, I can call it home now. We come home, Uncle John isn't come back yet. He's probably still at Sarah's.

I felt really guilty about Sherlock spending so much money, but he said it was ok, Mycroft (his brother) is paying for it anyway. Sherlock says he hates Mycroft, but I reckon he's just being melodramatic. I can't imagine ever hating Connor, annoyed sure, but hate is a strong word. In other news, Sherlock still hasn't told us what to call him, he's taking forever. We stopped pestering him a while ago because he seemed genuinely stressed. Sherlock just doesn't seem right though, it's too...I dunno, it's just weird. It's odd.

Something really strange happened in the cab on our way here. We asked Sherlock if we had any other family apart from Mycroft and Sherlock went all tense. He clammed up for the rest of the journey and he hasn't spoken to us since. It's infuriating. Connor and I have been sitting on the sofa for the past five minutes in this awkward silence. I don't like silence anyway but this is torture. I hear someone coming up the stairs. I turn to see John.

"Hey, how was your date with Sarah, Uncle John?" I ask.

"It wasn't a date. We just met up to talk about work." I snort and I think I see John blush. No way. John is definitely not the blushing type. It must've been the light. "Sherlock around?"

"Yeah. Beware, he isn't speaking."

"Oh no. What happened?"

"Layla asked about his family. Well done Lay" Connor says as he gives me an sarcastic raise of his eyebrows.

"Oh come on Connor. You were thinking it."

"Very true, but still."

"We'd have asked eventually, just be thankful it was at the end of our shopping spree and not at the beginning"

"Honestly," John says as he watches us bicker, "I reckon you should be proud of yourselves. Sometimes I struggle to shut him up." Connor and I chuckle as John goes to find Sherlock. We hear muffled voices, it sounds like John and Sherlock are having an argument. Connor and I share a look and before going back to daydreaming. A couple of minutes later Sherlock walks in. He's changed into a casual t-shirt and pants with a blue dressing gown.

"I'm sorry for not talking to you." he mumbles.

"It's fine. We won't ask about it again." Connor says. Sherlock looks up and studies Connor's face intently.

"Thank you." he says before flopping down on the couch next to us. John leaves the room looking smug and a little shocked. We sit with Sherlock for the next hour. Connor and I fall asleep.

**BANG!** **BANG!**

I hear a gunshot and wake with a start. What the hell?

**BANG! BANG! BANG!**

I scream as I jolt up and fall off the couch. I hear John run into the room.

"What the hell are you doing!"

"Bored."

"What?"

"Bored" **BANG! **"Bored" **BANG!** "Bored!"

I whimper with each bang and feel myself on the verge of tears. I'm too tired. I can't deal with all this right now.

"I don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them."

"So you take it out on the wall?"

"The wall had it coming." I hear Connor chuckle and reality seeps back into me. I look up as Sherlock leans over to where he shot the wall. He looks down and smiles at Connor and I. Amazingly, I smile back. Sherlock flops onto the sofa where Connor and I were sleeping, you know, before he made us fall onto the floor by shooting the wall right above our heads. Idiot.

"What about that Russian case you had a couple of days ago?"

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder not worth my time."

"Oh shame."

I watch as John enters the kitchen and finds Sherlock's experiments. He looks absolutely fed up. He walks towards the fridge, "Anything in? I'm starving." He opens the fridge. "Oh for.." He closes the door and bends over. What did he see in there? He opens the door again, "There's a head. A severed head."

"Just tea for me thanks." There's a head in the fridge. Now that's just gross. We put _food_ in there. Ewww.

"There's a head in the fridge."

"Yes."

"A bloody head."

"Where else was I supposed to put it? I got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. I see you've written up the taxi driver case." We read that yesterday, it was quite cool.

"Uh, yes"

"A Study In Pink. Nice"

"Well. Pink lady; pink case; pink phone. There was a lot of pink." I chuckle and Sherlock looks down and gives me a 'death glare'. "Did you like it?"

"Uuum no." Well that was plain mean. _I_ thought it was quite brilliant.

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."

"Flattered. 'Sherlock sees through everyone and everything in seconds what's incredible though is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.'" Oh Uncle John, you're in for it now.

"Now hang on a minute, I didn't mean that-"

"Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way," Sherlock's voice is dripping with sarcasm, "Look it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister or sleeping with who-"

"Or that the Earth goes round the sun." I interject. I mean come on. Who didn't know that?

Sherlock glares at me, "Oh not that again. It's not important."

"It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?"

"Well if I ever did I deleted it."

"Deleted it?" questions John. It does sound bizarre I must say. Sherlock shifts so he is sitting up and facing John.

"Listen. This is my hard drive and it only make sense to put things in there that are useful. Really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish. That makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

"But It's the solar system" Wrong thing to say Uncle John. Should have just left it.

"Ugh. Hell. What does that matter? So the earth goes round the sun, if we went round the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." That was harsh. That was very harsh. Sherlock should not have said that. I like John's blog and I would very much like him to carry on 'inflicting his opinions' on me because they are cool and funny. My dad is a jerk.

John gets up and leaves as Sherlock curls into a tiny ball on the couch.

"Where are you going?" asks Sherlock.

"Out. I need some air." Good for you John. It's always better to walk away from a fight.

Mrs Hudson walks up the stairs and looks across the room, "Did they have a little domestic?" she asks Connor and I.

"If only, it was worse than that." Connor replies with a small smile. Sherlock huffs, gets up and walks across the room, stepping over me as he makes his way to the window.

"It's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more."

"Look at that. Quiet, calm, peaceful. Isn't it hateful?"

"Well I'm sure something will turn up Sherlock. A nice murder. That'll cheer you up."

"Because murders are always so nice" I say.

"It can't come too soon Sherlock says, ignoring my comment.

"Hey. What have you done to my bloody wall?"

"He got bored." said Connor.

"I'm putting this on your rent young man." says Mrs Hudson to Sherlock as she walks out of the room.

Suddenly their is a loud noise and everything goes black...


	6. Chapter 6: Introducing Mycroft

**Hello again. Sorry for not updating in forever, but here you go. Thanks to VioletErin.26 for reviewing along with anyone else who follows, favourites or reads. On with the story...**

* * *

**Layla's POV**

I hear Sherlock groan. What happened? I hear someone screaming. Why are they screaming? They should shut up. My head hurts. My _everything_ hurts. Ugh. Everything's going black. I think I should go to sleep...

* * *

"Layla! Layla wake up! Wake up right now or else-"

"Nnnghh" I groan as Connor starts shouting at me.

"You're gonna be fine." Can't he just shut up? Of course I'm fine.

"I _am_ fine. I just hurt all over." Hurt is probably an understatement.

"Well I'm not surprised. You got hit by a chunk of wall in the face." Smart-ass.

"Shut up dad."

"Dad?" I hear a confused voice asked. I start to tune everything out again. Sleep seems pretty good right now...

* * *

I wake up on a bed. I think it's Sherlock's. Ugh. Everything aches. I look down at myself to find various cuts and bruises adorning my body. Great! I try to stand, but a wave of dizziness and nausea hits me. I feel my legs start to tremble.

"Woah." I say to myself now, "I should not be doing that."

"No you shouldn't. You should be resting." I look up to see a serious-faced man with chestnut brown hair looking at me with some concern. "I cannot understand why my brother could not just send you to a hospital. He insists that you'll be fine when John checks you over" Hang on a minute. Brother. There's no way...

"Mycroft?"

"Aaah. I see my brother has told you of me." Seriously, what's with the formalities? The guy could lighten up a little.

"Ummm. Yeah. He said you were paying for all our stuff. Sorry for that by the way."

"You have no need to apologise. You _are_ my niece and nephew after all."

"Yeah, I guess we are... So, I suppose your Uncle Mycroft now."

"I suppose I am." A small smile crosses my face and I swear I see his lips twitch into one too.

"So are you gonna be visiting often then Uncle Mycroft?"

"My brother and I do not get along well. I don't think we'll be seeing that much of each other."

"Well that's stupid. You seem quite cool, you know? With your umbrella and all." I smile at him.

"Are you mocking me?"

"Not at all. It actually is a cool umbrella." I say as I gesture to the black umbrella he is leaning on. I wince as a sharp pain shoot up my arm.

"I can see why my brother finds you annoying."

"I've only been here a day. He can't be saying that already."

"He didn't need to say it."

"Let me guess you make _'deductions'_ just like he does."

"Oh, I'm not nearly as dramatic as that. I just observe and comment on what I see." Oh, I've known the guy for 30 seconds and I can already tell he's a drama queen. Or king. Nah, I prefer queen.

"I like you Uncle Mycroft. Try and come around more often." His serious face transforms into one of pure shock for a split second before he composes himself once again.

"If that is what you wish, I'll see what I can do."

"Stop making it sound like I'm a chore and come help me back into bed." I smile at him, and this time he clearly smiles back. He walks over to me and helps me lower myself into bed without passing out from the pain.

"Now you have to get some rest."

"Gotcha. Don't worry, I'm feeling tired already." He smiles at me before turning to leave. "Uncle Mycroft," he turns to look at me, "do try and visit. I would like my new family to be as whole as possible."

He smiles a sad smile, "I already said I'd see what I can do. That's all I can promise. Sherlock really can be quite stubborn at times."

"That's something we can both agree on. Have a good day Uncle Mycroft. I hope I see you again."

"As do I." As Uncle Mycroft leaves I shuffle around in Sherlock's bed, making myself comfortable. I forgot how good it is to sleep on a bed. And how tired it makes me feel...

* * *

I'm woken by a loud screeching noise. It's that frickin violin, why the hell is he playing it so horribly?

"Shut up!" I shout. I hear someone rush into the room.

"Layla, you're awake!" I hear Connor say as he gives me a hug. Since when does he give hugs? Ugh. Everything hurts again, especially my damn arm.

"Of course I'm awake with all the darn screeching" Seriously, what's up with that?

"Sherlock and Mycroft were having an argument"

"Of course they blooming were, the selfish jerks. I just wanna sleep." I hear a soft knock on the door and see Uncle John walk in.

"Sherlock said I should come check on you." He takes one look at me before saying, "You really need to be in hospital"

"I don't get it. Why am I the only one to get hurt?" I moan.

"Because you're the only one stupid enough to get hurt" Connor mocks, chuckling.

"Hello. I'm injured. You're meant to be nice to me."

"You're the one who said you were _fine_"

"I was in pain. I was delirious. Anyone got any chocolate? Chocolate fixes everything."

"Chocolate will not fix a fractured arm." says Uncle John as he moves closer to inspect my right arm. I look down on it and it's swollen to twice it's original size. Uh-oh. "How long has it been like that?"

"I don't know. It was hurting before. But so was everything else. I didn't notice it..."

"How on earth did you not notice that!" Connor looks at me doubtingly. I think he fears for my sanity. To be honest, _I_ fear for my sanity sometimes.

"You've got to get to hospital." says John, he's being a lot calmer than my brother. Then again he was in the army, he's probably seen worse. Sherlock practically bounces into the room.

"Time to go." he practically sings.

"What? Where?" asks Connor.

"Not you. You're staying with your sister." Sherlock looks to John, "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?"

"Sherlock. She needs to go to hospital."

"She'll be fine for now. Are you coming?"

John looks at me. "John. I am going to be fine. Now go check out whatever nonsense he's up to this time."

"It is not nonsense." I scoff at Sherlock's comment and try to settle back to sleep. Beds are so comfy. I hear Sherlock and John walk out and I am drifting off when Connor decides to strike up a conversation. What is up with him today?

"You ok?"

I sigh and look up at him. He's sitting at the end of the bed and looking at the floor. "Yeah Connor. I'm ok." That's like the third time he's asked today.

"I was scared I was gonna lose you. I don't know what I'd do if..." he trails off. He sounds like he's gonna cry. I've never seen him so emotional before. After mum...he just kind of shut off. He was never the emotional type, but he stopped showing any feeling after that. This is big for him.

"Connor. I'm still here. It's gonna be good." I try to reassure him.

"I'm starting to doubt this. It might be safer if we go into care." No. This is not happening. Is he high?

"No you don't. We just met our _father_. You hear that, our DAD. You are not taking that away from me. It was just a gas leak, nothing serious."

"Nothing serious. Just look at your arm. Are you telling me that isn't serious? I can't risk anything happening to you!"

"You're not _risking_ anything. What happened today was an accident. It's perfectly fine here."

"The guy wouldn't let you go to hospital." Ugh. I'm too tired for this.

"He would have if I asked. But I'm fine staying here."

"You're not fine. You need to go to hospital. Why didn't you ask? If you were so sure that he'd let you."

"Because I need to sleep. Seriously just lie down on this bed. It's so comfy." It's true. I don't think I've ever been on anything so sleep-inducing.

"I'm not lying down." Oh Connor, being your stubborn self as usual.

"You know you want to." I tease, a smile on my face.

"I'm not." Jeesh, just lie down dude.

"Oh come off it. Just lie down."

"Fine. But only 'cause I've got nothing better to do." Oh sure. You're just as tired as I am. He lies down next to me on the bed. Soon enough we both drift into a much needed slumber.


	7. Chapter 7: Memories

**A short chapter about Connor and Layla's past. Thanks to anyone who follows, favourites or reads. No reviews on the last chapter, but that's ok. More of a filler chapter, but necessary.**

* * *

**Layla's POV**

"Wake up. You're going to the hospital." The sound of Sherlock's voice rouses me from my sleep. Why can't a girl get her beauty sleep nowadays?

"Sherlock. You don't need to be so curt."

"We don't have time to waste." There like an old married couple. Oh that's weird. That's bizarre. I hadn't thought about them in that way before. Two males sharing a flat. Could be...I'm gonna have to ask some questions.

"Still-"

"We're coming, we're coming..." I mumble as I groggily get up. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." I stand up warily, still feeling dizzy.

"Woah. Watch yourself." says Connor. He comes behind me and supports me so I don't fall.

"Thanks." I mumble, still sleepy. I never have been a morning person...well it's the afternoon now. Sherlock, obviously sick of waiting, lifts me up, swings me over his shoulder and starts to carry me out of the room. This brings back too many memories.

"No! No! Put me down. Please put me down!" My voice breaks and I feel my throat constrict as I try to hold back tears. "Put me down." I almost whisper as a tear rolls down my cheek. Sherlock, surprised by my outburst, places me on the couch. He looks at me and his face suddenly changes to one of pity.

"Oh...I'm sorry. I didn't notice..." he walks out of the room and back into his bedroom. I hadn't wanted anyone to know about this. They were gonna find out sooner or later. Connor appears by my side.

"Are you ok? I'm sorry, I just-"

"It's fine. I'm fine. It just took me by surprise." I hated doing this to him. He blames himself too much for what happened. I used to blame him for what happened, but there's no point anymore. No point at all. Uncle John looks at me in concern. "Well. Aren't we going to the hospital?" I say as cheerily as possible. They're probably gonna ask. Well, Uncle John is. Sherlock most likely already knows. I stand up and walk down the stairs. I flag down a taxi as John, Connor and Sherlock appear behind me. Uncle John places a hand on my shoulder and I give him a small smile. Sherlock's holding trainers, that's odd. They're pretty cool actually, I wonder if I could get a pair like that...

We climb into the cab and head for St Bart's. "So...What's the case?" I ask. It's way too awkward here.

John looks at Sherlock who is staring intently out the window. He's deep in thought. "Well, you know the gas leak?"

"Yep." Connor and I say in unison. How could I forget it? It left me with a blooming fractured arm.

"It was a bomb." Connor gives me a look. Ok, so maybe it's a bit more dangerous here than we anticipated. "And the bomber is now threatening to blow someone up. We found these trainers in 221C, they're a clue apparently."

"Hang on a minute," says Connor, "You mean the 221C we were meant to be staying in?"

"Yes." John says uncomfortably. Connor glares at me. He really wants us to leave now. I don't care, I'm staying. We arrive at St Bart's.

"John. Take Layla to A&E." John does just that, without question. Connor, John and I are now waiting to be seen. Luckily, there aren't that many people here so we get seen quickly. The doctor asks some questions, his eyes widen in shock when I tell him I injured myself in an explosion. Well I couldn't exactly lie. They've got to go make my cast now, so we're gonna be waiting for a while. They've given me a hospital bed whilst I'm waiting. I can tell they're getting nervous, Connor's fidgeting and John is swaying ever so slightly on the balls of his feet.

"You guys should go check on Sherlock. You know, check he's ok."

"We can't leave you here on your own." counters John.

"Oh it'll be fine. I'll just say you've gone to get some tea or something."

"She's not gonna give up," says Connor in an exasperated voice, "We might as well go." I give Connor and John a smile as they walk away. I really need some time to myself. I think over what happened earlier. I should not have broken down like that. I thought I was over it. I honestly did.

* * *

When Connor was 13 he had grown very bored with life. He had finished school, along with his sister, and their mother had forced them to take a gap year instead of going to university. He had made some friends in an attempt to relieve his boredom, some very bead friends. Connor had been introduced to drugs through said friends. They were a wonderful answer to his problems, they gave him something to do to relieve his immense boredom. His sister had argued with him, she had begged him to stop. He would often disappear for days on end, his sister would often have to make up stories to convince their mother, who worked full-time and did not often see their children, that her brother was not doing drugs. Layla did not like lying to her mother, but she needed to protect her brother until he saw sense.

Connor had developed quite a debt due to his addiction, he no longer had any money to pay his suppliers. He had tried to explain to them, but they said they needed the money. They said they would find a way. They found out where Connor lived. They were going to burgle the house, but they came across a much more useful treasure, his sister. They had taken her. It had been messy, she had put up a fight, but she was home alone, no one to help her. They had gotten her eventually. It had taken Connor two days to find his sister, by then they had already done terrible things to her. He stole her from them, sneaking in and taking his sister far away from the monsters. He had managed to convince their mother that they should move house. His sister acted somewhat like her usual self when her mother was around. But she often suffered from nightmares, she would not speak for days. Connor blamed himself, it had taken time but Layla eventually was able to forgive him. She is broken now, and so is he.


	8. Chapter 8: Strangers And Revelations

**Hello again. Thank you to VioletErin.26 for reviewing, along with anyone else who follows, favourites or reads. I appreciate it. **

**So here's the next chapter. We introduce some new characters. Yay! Just a warning, during Connor's POV I pretty much stick to the script. You can skip that bit if you want, but you'd be missing out on Connor's perspective. I just ask that you read the last quarter, from "Can I have a go?" because it's vital to the story. Thanks and I suppose we'd best carry on with the story now.**

* * *

**Layla's POV**

It's been ten minutes since John and Connor left. I'm really starting to regret asking them to leave. It's so dull here. I think I'm gonna play the game Connor and I made up when we were younger. I never really liked it because it felt like we were judging people, but I've nothing better to do. It works better when there's two of us, it's more competitive. For some reason, I've always been better with people, Connor's better with objects. The things he can tell from how someone places their mug of tea or how they organise their cupboards astonishes me. But he never notices the little things with people, like how they way they react can tell a lot about their life story. For example, that doctor over there, he's clearly a smoker but trying to hide it. Maybe drugs too. But why hide it? Embarrassment? Possibly. Pride? More likely. He stands tall. Authoritative. But there are moments when he lets himself go and you can see a weaker side of him. Situational authority. He's itching at his fingers so-

"Hello." I'm interrupted by a boy, a little older than me, with strawberry blonde hair and a side fringe that covers his left eye. Shy? No. Hiding? Maybe. Disguise? I think so. He's wearing all black excluding a red dragon on his t-shirt. He's uncomfortable in his clothes, keeps shifting. His body language is open but stiff, trying to give off an air of confidence, not quite getting there. I reckon he can be confident, but is unused to the situation. Why put yourself in this situation if you don't want to be here? Layla, stop over-analysing and get rid of him already.

"Uh. Hey."

"You look bored." Brilliant observation, genius! Hang on a minute, does he have an Irish accent?

"That might be because I am."

"What happened to your arm?" He _does_ have an Irish accent. It's only slight, but it's there. That's actually pretty cool.

"Fractured it."

"How?" I don't get why people question things so much. And why does it matter anyway?

"Why do you care?"

"Just thought it looked interesting." There's hundreds of more interesting people in this hospital. Why me?

"You know what would look interesting right about now? You, walking away."

"Someone's feisty."

"Someone's not leaving." He tosses me an effortless smile. He's really getting on my nerves.

"How come you're here on your own?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"My uncle's here. He works in IT." Didn't Molly's boyfriend work in IT. Coincidence? Is there even such a thing?

"Why don't you join him?" He gives me a strange look and looks away for a second.

"How come you're so eager to get rid of me?" His hand twitches, but I can tell it's a fake reaction. Whoever this guy is, he's trying to play me.

"How come you're so eager to stay?"

"Nothing better to do." Like I believe that.

"You could go bug your uncle."

"He's busy." Oh yeah, and I believe that too.

"So am I."

"Doing what?"

"Trying not to punch you." He chuckles and smirks at me.

"So feisty. You'll be seeing me around Layla. But I'll leave for now." I never told him my name. This is getting freaky.

"How'd you know my name?"

"I thought you wanted me to leave. And anyway Little Miss Chatterbox, some things are best left to the imagination." He walks away. What was up with that? I'm freaking out. Maybe his uncle is that Jim guy. Yeah, and Molly told him about me and that's how he knew me. But how did he know what I looked like? Ugh. Calm down. It'll figure itself out. Just don't tell Connor, he'll make me leave, and things are getting so fascinating...

* * *

**Connor's POV**

We walk in on Sherlock inspecting something in his microscope. He doesn't seem to notice us. We stand there for a few minutes. Should we have left Layla on her own? What if something happens? I don't know anymore...I'm trying to look out for her, but she's fighting me every step of the way. I don't want to leave here either, but it's dangerous. I can't put her in danger ever again, I've caused her too much pain, I refuse to cause her anymore. Why'd she have to be so stubborn? I have to admit, she started acting like her old self again once we got here. She started smiling and joking. I don't want to take that away from here. She seems happy, but she's not safe. And isn't safety what matters? Or are you only living when you're taking risks?

"So who do you suppose it was?" John asks, breaking the silence. That's a shame. I like silences, gives me time to think.

"Hmm."

"The woman on the phone. The crying woman." Even _I_ know there's no point in chasing that up.

"Oh she doesn't matter she's just a hostage. No lead there." As much as I don't want to admit it, he's right. He says it with so little emotion. He could at least _try_ to be empathetic.

"For god's sake. I wasn't thinking about leads."

"Well you're not gonna be much use to her." I smirk. Good one. Inappropriate, but good.

"A-Are they trying to trace it? Trace the call." There's no point in that. The bomber might do something if they tried.

"Bomber's too smart for that." Sherlock's phone goes off. "Pass me my phone."

"Where is it?"

"Jacket." No way. That's just lazy. John walks over to get Sherlock's phone. I shake my head, suppressing a chuckle. "Careful." Warns Sherlock when John pulls it out roughly. John shoots me a look and I struggle to restrain my laughter. It's just too funny.

"Text from your brother."

"Delete it." What's he got against Mycroft? I wish Layla was here, she'd know.

"Delete it?"

"The plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it."

"Well Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important."

"Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment."

"His what?"

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?" Sherlock sounds off. What's he hiding?

"Try and remember there's a woman who might die."

"What for? The hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?" Now that's harsh. Suddenly, the computer beeps and Molly walks through the door.

"Any luck?" She asks.

"Oh yes."

"Uh sorry." says a stranger who walks through the door. Oh he's gay. He's so gay.

"Jim!" Molly practically shouts. "Come in. Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes. And uhh..Sorry." Wow. Molly's really not good with names.

"John Watson. Hi." John replies in annoyance.

"And Connor. Hey." It's amusing that Molly doesn't remember my name. She seemed to really care yesterday.

"Hi," replies Jim, "so you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?" There's something iffy about his accent. He breathes too deeply, speaks too slowly.

"J-Jim works in IT upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." They chuckle.

"Gay." Sherlock comments. Well that was subtle. Well done Mr Know-It-All.

"Sorry what?" asks Molly, her face dropping.

"Nothing. Umm...Hey." Sherlock turns to smile at Jim, attempting to rectify his actions. Not gonna work, buddy. We all heard you.

"Hey." Jim replies before dropping something on the floor. He slips something under a petri dish. Probably his number. "Umm...Sorry. I better be off. I'll see you at The Fox, about six-ish."

"Yeah." replies Molly.

"Bye. It was nice to meet you." Jim says to Sherlock. Yep, definitely his number.

"You too." says John, answering on Sherlock's behalf.

"What do you mean gay? We're together." Oh Molly, how wrong you are.

"And domestic bliss must suit you Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." Uh-oh. This isn't gonna end well. Never talk about a woman's weight. Ever.

"Two and a half."

"Three."

"Sherlock..." John warns.

"He's not gay! Why'd you have to spoil-He's not." Molly protests. Now would be a good time to switch topics.

"Hey guys-" I begin but Sherlock interrupts. This is not gonna be pretty.

"With that level of personal grooming..." I tune out from here. I notice movement by the doors. I walk outside to see what it is, but I find nothing. Molly pushes past me and runs off. What did Sherlock say? I walk back in.

"Go on." says Sherlock in a challenging tone.

"I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while-"

"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me. Really." Sherlock explains. Honestly, I think he just likes expressing his 'superior intelligence'. I walk over towards them.

"Fine." John says, before inspecting the trainers. "They're just a pair of shoes. Trainers."

"Good." Sherlock says.

"Umm...They're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new except the sole's been well worn, so the owner must've had them for a while. Uh...very eighties. Must be one of those retro designs..."

"You're on sparkling form. What else?" False compliments. John is missing out the basics.

"Well they're quite big, a man's."

"But."

"But there's traces of a name inside in felt tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes. so these must have belonged to a kid." That was a good observation. Something of importance this time.

"Excellent. What else?"

"Uhh...I don't know. That's it. How did I do?"

"Well John...Really well." I can feel Sherlock's about to insult John. Better step in.

"Can I have a go?" I ask. I'm usually good at this sort of thing when I try with Layla so I'll give it a go. Let's see if I meet Sherlock's standards.

"Yes...of course." Sherlock says, a tad surprised by my sudden contribution. John hands me a shoe. I look at in closely.

"Well...the owner loved these to bits. Scrubbed 'em clean. Wiped 'em when they got dirty. Changed the laces three-"

"Four." Sherlock says. I look again and see my mistake.

"Yeah. Four times. You can see places where his fingers have come into contact with the trainer. I reckon he suffered from eczema. Shoes are worn more on the inside. Probably weak arches. It's not retro. It's original, I think." John looks at me in amazement. I smile sheepishly.

"You're right. Spot on." Sherlock looks at me strangely. "How peculiar. How is your sister at deducing?"

"We don't deduce. It's just a game we play... but Layla's better at reading people, I suppose."

"Wow...But how come it's original. It looks new." says John.

"Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex with London mud overlaid."

"How'd you know?" I ask.

"Pollen." he answers simply. "So the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left his trainers behind."

"So what happened to him?" John asks.

"Something bad. He loved those shoes, he'd never leave them filthy. He wouldn't leave them at all unless he had to. So child, with big feet, gets...Oh."

"What?" I ask. The name seems familiar.

"Carl Powers."

"Sorry, who?"

"Carl Powers, John." Oh my God. There's no way...This is impossible.

"What is it?"

"It's where I began." I've gotta tell Layla. This is unbelievable.


	9. Chapter 9: Coincidence Overload

**Hey again. First of all, thanks to anyone who follows or favourites. Secondly, Connor and Layla are going to go on their own adventures. They won't be following John and Sherlock whilst they solve Moriarty's problems. I hope this ok, I have a lot planned for them. **

**By the way, I hate when people do this, but could you guys please review. Even if it's just a smiley face :) I just need to know of you guys are still reading and enjoying. I'll take criticism, but it's gotta be constructive. Thanks, for reading, let's get to the story then.**

* * *

**Layla's POV**

I've just got my cast fitted. I got it in black, that way no one can sign it. I broke my leg once in junior school, some idiot wrote a hate note on my cast. I've blocked most of school from my memory now, I just thank God that we don't have to go to school anymore. That's all behind us. Mum said that they were just jealous, I think they were just imbeciles.

From the corner of my eye I see Connor walk up to me. He's stressed, super stressed. He has something to tell me and it's not gonna be good. I'm preparing for the worst. Maybe he saw me talking to that boy and overheard. No, he can't have. I'd have noticed him. Mind you, I was a bit preoccupied with that bizarre boy. Connor's coming closer now. What if he tries to make us leave again? His powers of persuasion are greater than mine, I'm holding him off now, but he might get me in the end. Oh look at me, thinking of my brother as my worst enemy. No, we stick together. If he's really uncomfortable, I guess I'd have to go with him.

"Hey. How're you doing?" He asks, his eyes full of concern. How could I ever think of his as my enemy?

"I'm great. What's up? You've got something to tell me." He shifts uncomfortably.

"Umm...Yeah. I guess I do..."

"Go on." I prompt. Please don't say we have to leave.

"Remember Uncle Carl." I freeze at the name. We didn't speak about him often. He was mum's younger brother by a year. She was destroyed when he passed, I can only hope that they're together now.

"Yes."

"He was murdered. By this mystery bomber person. It wasn't an accident. I reckon he slipped into his medication-you remember, for his eczema? That's why he had that fit in the pool."

"You better not be lying to me Connor." I can see mum's face now. How it lights-lit-up whenever she talked about her brother. They were so close. She says-said-that when he died, it was like half of her went with him. The main reason she had us was because she was lonely without him.

"I swear I'm not. I just...it's coincidence. Surely, it's coincidence?" He sounds so confused, so done with it all. If we hadn't arrived, then Sherlock would be indifferent to who Carl was. We wouldn't know what had actually happened to Uncle Carl. But why would anyone murder him? Mum never had anything bad to say about him.

"I can't think of anything else it could be...So what happened in the morgue? You were down there for a while." I swiftly change the topic. First I fracture my arm, then that creeper comes up to me, and now I find out my uncle was _murdered._

"Oh yeah. You know that game we play? The one where we guess people's life stories?"

"Yeah. I was playing it just before. I was so bored."

"Apparently, we're deducing." I laugh at this. It's absurd, it's just a game. "Oh. And Molly and Sherlock aren't on good terms." This was strange. I can't imagine Molly being annoyed at Sherlock, she has a thing for him.

"How come?"

"Molly's boyfriend came in. He was so obviously gay, but Sherlock went and said it. And then he said she'd put on weight" Molly's boyfriend in IT. I'm pretty sure that there's a limit for the amount of coincidence you can have in one day.

"Molly's boyfriend from IT?" I ask.

"Yep." answers Connor.

"He didn't look gay from the picture she showed me. I only got a glimpse, but he definitely wasn't gay."

"You sure?" he asks. I nod. "Because I thought there was something off about him. He spoke strangely, and he didn't seem that comfortable. But he was definitely gay. He slipped Sherlock his number."

"What?" I almost shout. "Our Dad got hit on by some creep who is probably pretending to be gay for some unknown reason and is probably the uncle of that creep who knew my name."

"The creep who knew your name?" Uh-oh. I didn't mean to say that. Well I've gotta tell him now. I shift about a bit under Connor's glare. Just as I'm about to tell him a nurse comes up to us.

"You're free to go Miss Powers." she says cheerily.

"Oh. Thank you." I say hastily as I get up and rush out of the hospital. I'm trying to delay the conversation Connor and I are gonna have. Connor follows me. "Where are Sherlock and Uncle John?" I ask, attempting to change the conversation.

"They left already. They're probably at Baker Street by now. Now about this creep..."

"Oh, it was nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing." I can see overprotective Connor coming out as I flag down a taxi.

"Well..." I begin as I get into the taxi and tell the cabbie where we're going, "There was this guy who popped up to me just after you left." I can feel Connor's glare intensify. "And he was dodgy. He was putting on this act, and it was as clear as daylight. He told me about his uncle, he said he worked in IT. And I remembered that Molly's boyfriend worked in IT. And he seems dodgy too. So maybe Molly's boyfriend is this guy's uncle."_  
_

"You said he knew your name. I'm presuming you didn't tell him your name otherwise you wouldn't have freaked out."

"No. I didn't. He said he'd be seeing me again. Connor...I don't know what to do. Everything seems to be coincidental. Do you think that, you know, maybe...Maybe those creepy guys and Uncle Carl are linked?" It sounds bizarre. But I've never truly believed in coincidence, and now isn't a time to start.

"Well, there's only one way to find out. We're gonna have to do some investigating." I see Connor light up a little, he;s always wanted to do something like this. I guess we;re gonna be following in our father's footsteps for a while.

"Where do you suggest we start?"

"We're gonna have to go home Layla. Mum had some stuff of Uncle Carl's. It may hold some clues." I stiffen at the idea. He's right, but I don't know if I can handle going back.


	10. Chapter 10: Discoveries

**Hey again. Thank you to VioletErin.26 for reviewing. Also thanks to anyone who follows, favourites or reads. Come on guys, please review. I'm not gonna stop updating or anything,I wanna see where this story goes as much as you do. I ask each of you to leave at least an emoticon indicating your feelings on this chapter. Just a simple :) will suffice. **

**I know you're there. I sent you followers and favouriters a personalised 'WELCOME' message (in capitals so those who don't read the A/N notice it). Some of you even replied to said message.**

** Just an emoticon. That's all I'm asking. This probably isn't gonna happen in the next chapter, if I get some reviews. That sounded like a threat It wasn't a threat, it was a statement.**

**A/N is getting a bit long now. Quick note. I have a new story out called Personal. It's Molly/Moran if any of you want to check it out. I'd appreciate it.**

**I'm rambling now. You guys probably wanna read the chapter now, don't you. That's fine by me. On with the story...**

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**Narrator's POV**

_Going to rummage through Uncle Carl's stuff. Don't wait up. Connor and Layla._

_P.S. We kinda stole some money from you. We'll pay it back...probably._

Of course they had left a note. They were not stupid. The did not want Sherlock or John to worry. However Layla's hasty scrawl on one of Sherlock's music sheets only seemed to worsen John's worry. He had grown rather fond of the teens, and to find that they were in relation to the deranged bomber's victim was distressing to him. He did not want the twins in danger. However Sherlock remained completely calm...almost. He was rather irritated that Layla had written on his music sheets. He's written half of his new composition on there. Now he'd have to copy out. Sherlock was somewhat amused that the children felt that they could help with his case. He had already solved it, there was no use. But 'whatever floats your boat'. As John would say. He had deduced that Connor had known Carl Powers, but was not particularly sure as to whether there were family relations. How seemingly coincidental...

* * *

**Layla's POV**

Not much is said on the ride over. I contemplate how quickly I am adjusting to life at Baker Street. I've only been here for two days and I've barely thought about Mum. I'd feel guilty but I've been happy for the first time in ages. Mum would want that. And the constant danger...it's oddly thrilling. The train comes to a slow stop and I find myself back at my home. My true home. It's a ten minute walk to the house from the train station. Connor and I remain in complete silence and I'm glad of it. We have different ways of coping, and I know he's never been the talking type. Not about emotions anyway.

We approach the house. There are tears threatening to fall and my throat is beginning to close up. I don't think I can do this. Looking down the driveway...I expect her to walk out of the door and come hug us. She would say _Sorry, it was an accident. I'm back now_ and then she would take us inside and we would have homemade lemonade. I loved her lemonade, I could never make it quite like Mum could. Connor notices my state and takes hold of my hand.

"You don't have to do this." He whispers to me.

"It's ok. I can do it." I compose myself, standing up straighter and taking a deep breath.

"Nah, sis. _We_ can do it. In it together, yeah?" I nod and give him a small smile. It's at moments like this when I really appreciate having a twin.

We walk into the house, you know, after I pick the lock and all. Mum didn't believe in keeping spare keys, thought it made it easier to rob the house. I loved Mum for that. Those quirky little thoughts. The way she'd constantly check herself in the mirror before she left because Uncle Connor had once played a prank on her where he put a 'Cool Kid' sign on her back. At least it wasn't something cruel like 'Kick Me' was what she always said. Before laughing that twinkling little laugh of hers. I look at myself in the mirror. I could never be as beautiful as she was.

Connor nudges me and I snap out of my daze. "You ok?" he asks. His voice is laced with concern.

"Yeah. Just remembering." I wanna close my eyes. Everywhere I look I see her. Even in the little things. The almost invisible stains on the kitchen walls from when we had a food fight. I got honey in my hair, I almost strangled Connor. It took three washes before my hair even felt remotely normal. Mind you, I may have poured baked beans and chocolate sauce all over him. It was fun at the time. I wish I could go back and do it again. A small smile crosses my face. I look over at Connor and see him tearing up. This is the emotional I've seen him since Mum... I walk over to him and hold his hand. We walk upstairs and head into the attic where Mum kept all of her old stuff. Connor and I used to play up here when we were younger. I used to try and fit into mum's rainbow neon jumpsuit. Don't ask me why she owned it, I never asked. I wish I had...

I look across the room to see Connor on his knees, rummaging though boxes. As I kneel next to him he takes a book out of the box. "What is it?" I ask.

"Mum's yearbook." He says as he opens the book. On the first page is a note:

_Forever in your heart. JM x_

"What the hell?" I ask "Mum never told us about this guy." Come on, it's obviously a guy. Just look at it. Connor and I look confusedly at the note before proceeding with the rest of the book. There are no other notes from mystery men, thank goodness. There he is. He's near the end of the book, but he's there. . Molly's boyfriend. We're in deeper than we think. Whoever this dude was, I'm pretty sure he murdered my uncle...and he was dating my Mum. Maybe not dating, It seems more like stalking to me. Mum said she'd never been in love, she wouldn't lie to us.

"Layla. I think we better go. We need to get back to 221B. I'm serious. Whoever this guy is, he's dangerous. And I can't let you-" He stops as he hears the door open downstairs. There's someone in here with us. There's a window in the attic. They'll get here eventually, but if we open the window they'll know exactly where we are. They could have the place surrounded. We may be going out to gunshots. We may be staying for gunshots. Why don't I have a phone again?


	11. Chapter 11: The Chase

**Hello again. I apologise for not updating in forever. I started a YouTube channel. The name's ToffeeVids. There's a link in my profile if you wanna check it out. I vlog, mainly.**

**Thank you to SlightlyStrangeGirl for reviewing. You guys should definitely check out some of her stories. They are awesome. I seriously recommend them, they would really benefit you.**

**Back to the story I guess...**

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**Layla's POV**

We manage to figure out our course of action in a matter of seconds. Connor nods towards the window and I nod back; it looks like we're heading out. To be honest, there was no way we were staying in. The probability of someone dangerous outside is considerably less than the probability of someone dangerous inside. We tiptoe over to the window, careful not to step on a creaky floorboard. It would do no good to have them find us now. Connor puts his hand on the window handle and mouths "Three. Two. One.". He pulls open the window and I launch myself through it. I pull my knees up to my chest so that I can fit through. I shuffle to the right and watch as Connor does the same. He closes the window to the sound of someone running up the stairs. We scramble towards the drainpipe, my heart almost stopping every time Connor or I slips.

Connor goes down first, he'd be quicker down so it makes more sense. I give him a small smile as he lowers himself down. He's about halfway when I hear the window open. The intruder won't be able to see me from where they are, but the moment they climb out I'll be all too easy to spot. The drainpipe can only hold one at a time, so there's no chance of me climbing down. I'm gonna have to climb onto the window ledge to my left, smash the window and climb in. There's a chance that there's two of them and the other one could shoot me, but it's my best option at the moment. I sneak over to the window, listening to the sound of the intruder clamber out of the attic window. It's a man, heavily built, probably muscly. I hear the sound of a gun being loaded. Crap.

I lower myself down onto the window ledge, grimacing at the pressure being put on my broken arm. I'm trying not to cry out in pain. I dangle my legs about, searching for the ledge. I find it after a few seconds, I smile with relief as I shift the pressure from my arms to my legs. But as I try to crouch down on to the ledge, I lose my center of balance. I flail my arms about, desperately trying to regain it. My flailing is useless, my right leg slips and scrapes against the bricks below me. My jeans rip (that's annoying, they're my favourites) and I cry out as I feel my skin tear. There's blood gushing down my leg and I wince as I bring my leg up to the ledge. I'm sure he's heard me, I can hear his footsteps come towards me. Crap crap crap.

I kick the window as hard as I can with my good leg. It cracks. I kick it again and it shatters. I climb in. Gunshots echo behind me as I race out of the room (whilst limping) and down the stairs. I hope Connor's ok. He could've been shot. I'm so stupid, why'd I have to go and lose my balance? Stupid. As I reach the door I hear footsteps behind me. I open the door and rush around the house to where I think Connor might be. I'm right, he's there, blood pouring from his arm. He's been shot...it's all my fault. I rush towards him. I feel tears roll down my cheeks. I grab his good arm and pull him away from the house. He seems to be in shock.

"Come on!" I shout at him "He's right behind us! We have to get out of here!" Connor seems to come to it and nods at me. We start running, I don't know where. We have to get away. We're injured, so we're not exactly fast. I can hear the guy behind us. I refuse to look back. I'm willing myself to go faster. Why hasn't he shot at us yet? He wants us alive. But why not cripple us? He wants us to be able to move. He's planning something later. Oh God. Please no. I can feel him gaining ground. He'll be on us any second now. Keep going. Someone will save us. Someone has to.

I see an alley to our right. I push Connor into it. He stumbles, but runs into the alley. He thinks I'll follow him, but instead I turn around and punch our attacker in the face as hard as I can. He is blonde, skinny, but somehow still muscly. There is blood dripping from his nose as he snarls and grabs my broken wrist. He twists my arm behind me and throws me onto the floor. The world is going black. For Pete's sake not again...


	12. Chapter 12: Prisoners

**Thank you to TeamPiper for reviewing, along with anyone else who follows, favourites or reads. Let's get on with the story I guess...**

* * *

**Layla's POV**

I wake up in a dark room and begin to hyperventilate. I pat my hands along the floor searching for something, anything, that could indicate where I was. I feel a wall behind me. I make to stand, leaning against the wall for support, but instead find my self falling. I can't move my feet much, there are shackles binding them to a point on the wall. They only come about a metre off the wall, massively limiting my movement. After a bit of struggle I manage to stand myself up. I feel above me, searching for a ceiling or a trapdoor. Just anything in general. There's nothing there and my hands just flail around in the air. I lower myself onto the ground and lie flat on the floor. I stretch myself out and feel all around me for a wall. There is nothing (other that the wall behind me) and I lie on the floor for a bit. I listen to the sound of my breathing and try to relax, you know, as much as you _can_ relax in these situations. Just try to rationalise everything. I am chained in a room that could be of any size and there is no way of contacting anyone. I could try and shout, it would at least indicate how big the room is. But all that would do is alert whoever kidnapped me to my presence. And that is never good.

Tears are threatening to fall from my eyes and I choke and sniffle as I try to hold them back. I don't want a repeat of last time. Under no circumstances will I let there be a repeat of last time. I will never give in. I refuse to give up. I will not let them break me. Someone will find me...someone has to.

* * *

I don't know how long it's been. No one's come to see me yet, I've just remained here, in this prison. My throat is dry and rough because I've had nothing to drink and I keep drifting off into sleep. I could have been here for days, but I doubt it. I'd feel worse if I was. My stomach grumbles and I let out a groan. It's not that I'm hungry, I barely eat anyway, it's just that my body seems to _think_ I am. Ugh. Would they just let me out already. Or at least reveal who they are. Jerks. I'd say anything is better than this, but I know that's definitely not true...This situation could be so much worse. I suppose I should be thankful.

I think Connor's in some sort of prison cell too. I can't imagine him running off without me. He was in pain, but he wasn't that distracted that he wouldn't have noticed me scream as I went down. He would have come back to try and help, and seeing as I'm here and not home I can only assume he was beaten and taken somewhere else. I replay the footage in my mind, imprinting the image of the blonde stranger in my mind. He looks a bit like that creep in the hospital, could that be his father? I know I shouldn't jump to conclusions and now probably isn't appropriate, but SCORE! I was right, everything is linked. I suppose I should be terrified at the scale of this, but I need a pick-me-up right about now. At least I know I can still trust my instincts...ish. My instincts may have told me to punch a guy who was _clearly_ stronger and taller than me. My instincts also told me to go see Sherlock instead of going into care. I am now, potentially, experiencing the last few hours of my life. I was hoping I'd go out with more of a bang. No, not with a gun or a bomb, but just something a bit more exciting than rotting in a cell. Well, I suppose you can't always get what you want. I'll have to make do with what I've got. No how to make my life a bit more interesting...

If they wanted something from me, they'd have come in by now. And they know I'm awake, there's a small light in the corner that probably belongs to a camera. That, and these shackles aren't exactly quiet. They'd come if I scream. He didn't want to hurt me, the blonde haired stranger I mean. If I threaten to hurt myself I might just get a response. It might not necessarily be a pleasant one, but I need something. I need to know what's happening. Will Sherlock find me? Would he even bother looking?

Stop over-thinking and scream already.

"Hey!" I shout as loud as I can. It hurts my throat, but I carry on. I really need a response. I start to rattle the shackles ans clanking ensues. "Hey! Let me out! Let me out or I swear I'll kill myself! You know me! You know about my suicidal tendencies! I will kill myself! You've given me the perfect weapon! Myself! All it takes is one hard bash against the floor and I'm gone! Just like that! Would your precious plan work then?" I carry on the rattling the chains.

I wince as the door opens and light floods into the room. I'm blinded for a while and white spots fill my vision.

"Shut it!" I hear a rough voice say as I regain my sight.

"Or what?" I counter "You can't hurt me."

"You'd be surprised." I look up to see the blonde attacker from before.

"So why haven't you hurt me yet?" I ask.

"Clever girl. But I'd still advise you to shut up. I may not be able to hurt you now...but later. I'll be free to do what I want."

"But you don't want to do this. You have a kid, just imagine me in his position. You can't do this, I've done nothing wrong." His face softens slightly at the mention of his son, but tenses soon after.

"Alex is none of your business, missy. Now shut up and stop causing problems. Hurting children isn't exactly a cup of tea, but it's necessary." The snarl in his voice startles me slightly. He's hurt. He's not comfortable with this at all.

"So his name is Alex, that's a nice name. I was wondering...There was a kid called Alex at my third school. He stood up for me when I was being bullied. It only got him a black eye, but it was a nice gesture." I give him a small smile, he smiles back, softening slightly.

"Nice story. Glad to see Alex left that much of an impact on you, I'll be sure to commend him later."

"Please do, I hope you got what you needed from me. I'd hate for this all to be for nothing."

"Surprisingly not, you were more perceptive than we suspected. We didn't get much at all." I think I can sense a hint of admiration in his voice. Then again, I've always had an over-active imagination.

"That's a shame. The boss must have been disappointed."

"Not really, we have other means of getting what we need." He eyes me strangely, wary of my behaviour.

"Hey, you got any water? My throat's killing me." We both grin at my entirely inappropriate statement.

"I'll give you some if you keep quiet."

"I'll keep quiet of you chat with me for a bit." He looks at me like I'm a maniac.

"Why on earth would you want to 'chat' with me?"

"Because you're interesting and I'm bored. I won't ask about your job or about me being locked up or anything. I just wanna talk about life in general. Like how annoying it is when Big Bang Theory finishes and you have to wait _forever_ for the new series."

"That is annoying isn't it?" His face breaks into a wary grin.

"Too right!"

"You know what, I might as well take you up on your offer. I've got nothing better to do. Let me just get you some water."

"Ta." I say as the door closes and the familiar darkness returns.


End file.
